


C'est Ce Bon

by Missy



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Anthropomorphism - Freefom, F/M, Humor, Porn Battle, Smut, Standing Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lumiere and Babette finally act on the flirtation that's been building between them for years, as awkward as doing so in their new human bodies is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'est Ce Bon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI, Prompt: Disney's Beauty and the Beast, Babette/Lumiere, celebrating being human
> 
> Authors Note of Doom: "cher" means "dear", "tresor" means "treasure", "Ca va tres bien" means "it's very good" and "n'est ce pas" means "isn't it", all in French.

He should remember how to do this. Heaven knew that he’d been a bit of a lothario before the change, so much so the prince’s father had worried he would disgrace himself, his house, in his amorous adventures. Lumiere always saw his randiness as a bit of sporting fun and avoided injuring the women he had made his lovers, or leaving behind a string of unwanted bastards.

How had it all begun? He remembered it clearly, the events of the past hour. He looked around the deserted ballroom with a sigh of satisfaction. It had been a wonderful celebration – wonderful but very long. Prince Adam and Princess Belle had been retired to their quarters upstairs for an hour when the servants finally came to the end of their chores. He heard Babette singing a bawdy alehouse tune as she strolled up, polishing the brass sconces with her duster. As she neared the edge of the room, their eyes met, then their lips. “The cupboards, _cher._ ,” she whispered, bending over to dust the last knickknack and strolling confidently away.

Desire, as always, would not be deferred, and he rushed to meet her. And as she clutched him by his waistcoat collar and dragged him in for a kiss, he knew that he would not disappoint her. And now they clinched, sweating in the cupboard, and it was beyond perfect, or it would be.

…If only he could remember just how to use his hands.

She cursed as he fumbled with the laces on her bodice, ripping it neatly open and leading his hands inside, to her plump breasts. “ _Oui, mon treasor,_ ” she panted when his fingers brushed her flesh, and he flinched. Her painted lips slackened as she opened her eyes. She understood. “Non,” she whispered. “Your fingers are not flame.”

His eyes widened, humor flashing in them. “Ca va tres bien,” he responded, kneading the mound until she let out a squeal. “And you are not a featherbrain.”

She giggled. “Oui, cher. Ahh, your hands….” She laughed as he squeezed her, and her long, stocking-clad legs wrapped themselves around his hips. “Quickly,” she begged, “the others will be about, n’est ce pas?”

He didn’t want quickly, but his body, which had gone for years without climax, told him right now would be just perfect. He unbuttoned his pantaloons and she reached within, eagerly fondling him.

“Ahh, here is the part that remains as firm as a candle wick,” she said, somehow making the idea of being solid as a candelabra again appealing. She cooed her appreciation as she pulled him free of his cloth restraints and gave him several firm strokes. He kissed her chin and neck, trying to pull her bodice down – one hand disappeared up her skirt and the other molested her breast. She was so wet that she left a blot of lubrication on his palm as she scooted away from him, and a wicked smile lit her eyes as she spread her legs and hiked the short skirt of her uniform upward. Then she sat down on the counter.

“Not so feathery below now, n'est ce pas?” she teased. He glanced at her sex and noticed that in the ensuing she had somehow shaved herself bald. The sight made his prick leap in her hand, and she hooked her legs around his hips, scissoring them around his upper back and using them as leverage to lower herself on his cock. They manage the position, he standing, holding onto her bottom and bouncing her upon his rod, her breasts brushed against the warm velvet of his jacket and her arms squeezing him for dear life. He drew her along to orgasm twice before finally giving in, lying her back on the counter and grabbing her thighs, driving into her depths as hard and fast as quickly.

“Now we shall see how the fire burns, cherie,” he growled, and she giggled again, her nails catching the middle of his back as he spent rapturously within her.

When they gathered a semblance of balance again they dressed, and she poured them fluted crystal glasses of lukewarm champagne leftover from the celebration. Their princess wouldn’t approve of them drinking leftovers (she would insist that they have the best of everything), but it was a good vintage. They wouldn’t waste it.

“To us, Cherie.”

She smiled. “To us, cher.”

They took a long draught and then sought the privacy of their own chamber.


End file.
